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What pain the stars have, HUMBERT WOLFE The Fiddle and the Bow
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𝕿𝖔𝖚𝖏𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 𝕻𝖚𝖗 Always Pure
Every time a Black is born, the God's flip a coin. One side greatness, the other madness.
Leo Black is teetering on the edge of both. Born from his Father's ancestral insanity and the esoteric blood of his Mothers, he has known one thing growing up: you either be brandished as a traitor and exiled to join a side who is falling in it's inadequacy, or serve your family and live long enough to see yourself become the villain. Leo knows the term villain is somewhat the loose, 2D version of what his family really is. He knows what they are, what they do—unsurprised that his classmates know too—but when his family's names are brandished in bold letters on the Daily Prophet you piece together what kind of threat you pose to people, and how far a name can really get you.
Black is a name tied to generations of violence and bloodshed—dominance held within its status and influence. The continuity of worship among the Black's has tethered Leo to where he is supposed to be right now. For he is their outcome, the tragic product of their actions and easily the root of their downfall. Leo Black could either bring them honour or failure. Glory or destruction.
Do they know that?
Possibly not.
He is not the first, nor the last. He sits in between, almost like a shadow; almost ignored. But the shadows are familiar, welcome. From here Leo can do whatever he pleases. He's not easily noticed—hidden by his older Brother's shadow, ignored by his Father and blinded by his cousins—not acknowledged, but he is something. He is a Black and Black's do not go unnoticed. Perhaps he knows that? Perhaps they know that?
